


Jellicle cats have moonlit eyes

by StrawberryLane



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheating, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Issues, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Marriage Proposal, Meet the Family, four times Constance's family meets the boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 05:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12314667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryLane/pseuds/StrawberryLane
Summary: "Wait a minute," Porthos interrupts. "Did you and d'Artagnan break up?""What? No, of course not!""Then why'd you need Athos to be your boyfriend?""Because," Constance tells them, as if she's addressing a particularly slow group of sheep, "my family dislikes d'Artagnan because he's not Jacques Bonacieux. I need to show them how good he is by introducing someone who's much worse than d'Artagnan could ever be.""Cheers for that," says Athos sarcastically as Aramis dissolves in laughter beside him.Or, Constance just wants her family to accept her boyfriend. Turns out that is more difficult than first expected.





	Jellicle cats have moonlit eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a line from TS Eliot's poem 'The Song of the Jellicles' from his book 'Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats'.
> 
> I recently read a very good and funny fic called ["A Nice Young Man"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712635) by RobinLorin and wanted to write my own version. That turned into this.

"When will you bring a nice young man home?" is the question most often asked when Constance phones home to update her family on her achievements and general life at college. It's a question she's grown so used to hearing that she usually just makes humming, agreeable noises while her mother goes off on a subdued, whiny rant of how she'll die an old lady without any grandchildren. All the other girls on their street have nice, respectable boyfriends by now, her mother likes to inform her. Adele Bessette is even getting married. "He proposed in their garden, for all the of street to witness. Had strung lights all over the lawn, it was incredibly romantic."

The fact that Adele Bessette's boyfriend – Armand Richelieu – is a man more than old enough to be her father seems to have been conveniently forgotten as Constance's mother gushes on and on about the proposal.

Constance and her family talk once a week, on Wednesdays at eight o'clock on the dot. Well, it's mostly Constance and her mother that talk, but her father is there in the background, sounding muffled. Her brothers, all having left the nest years before Constance herself, only make sporadic appearances. It should tell her mother something, Constance thinks, that all her children avoid visiting the family home as much as they can unless it's unavoidable, like Christmas or uncle Perry's birthday.

Last year, Constance actually brought a boy home for Christmas, to the surprise of literally everyone. His name is d'Artagnan and Constance's been dating him for close to a year now, she's very proud to say. He's very sweet, easy to get on with and she's very much in love with him. The only problem is, her family loathes him because his name is not Jacques Bonacieux and he's not the boasting owner of a small clothes store in the suburbs of Paris. The Christmas lunch she'd brought d'Artagnan along to had been awkward, her boyfriend doing his best to be polite and courteous in the face of Constance's aunt Patricia's increasingly rude questions. Aunt Patricia and Constance's mother have conspired to get Constance married to Jacques Bonacieux since she was a child. Their families have been friendly for years and Jacques' business success sealed the deal for Constance's mother. She's convinced Constance will go far in life, if only she's married to the most insufferable man in existence.

It's during one of the aforementioned phone calls, when they've begun the third round of 'when are you going to settle down, Constance?" that Constance gets an idea. Well, it's not an idea exactly – more of a series of events out of her control, but whatever, she'll take the credit. Athos, who knocked on her door late the night before and asked to stay because he'd had a wee bit too much to drink on his solitary night out, yells from the kitchen, asking if Constance wants more tea to go with the mountain of biscuits she's consumed since coming home from her economics class. Without bothering to put a hand over the receiver, Constance yells back that she'd love some.

"Who was that?" asks Constance's mother, her ill-hidden curiosity creeping through the phone.

"Oh that," says Constance, momentarily distracted by the mug of tea that quickly appears beneath her nose, "was Athos."

"Athos?" her mother inquires, sounding suspicious. "And who's Athos, my dear?"

"My friend," says Constance. "He crashed here last night and stayed to make dinner to repay my hospitality."

"Mhm," says her mother, in that tone of voice that indicates she doesn't believe that Constance is telling the truth. After a moment of silence, she continues.

"Well, I must be going, dear. Make sure you bring this Athos along to Perry's birthday dinner, we would all love to meet him. I love you and take care."

"Mum, I've-" begins Constance, only to be met by the sound of her mother putting down the receiver on the other end. The line goes dead.

"What happened?" asks Athos from where he's sitting down on Constance's broken down sofa. It's got large, quite ugly flowers on it.

"My mum assumed you're my boyfriend, I think."

Athos hums at this. "Uh, I thought your family met d'Artagnan last year?"

"Yes. But they refuse to acknowledge that he's a long-term boyfriend instead of a phase."

"I think," Athos says in that casual, calm way of his, "that you family should realise that d'Artagnan is a much better choice of you than someone like Bonacieux. You just need to find something that'll help them discover what a good guy d'Artagnan really is."

*

Athos' words stick with Constance all through the week leading up to uncle Perry's birthday lunch. d'Artagnan has already declined Constance's invite, citing the need not to see her family for something other than Christmas if he wants to stay out of jail. Constance can sympathise with that, though she thinks her boyfriend is being more than a bit childish. The lunch will drag on for four hours, at the most. It's not that much of time to spend with your significant other's family.

Constance is on her third cup of coffee when the idea hits her. Scooping up her things, she leaves the cafeteria and Anne behind in a hurry. "I'll be right back!" she yells to her friend, "I just need to find Athos!"

When she finds him, sat in the grass outside with Porthos and Aramis, she flings herself down next to the boys, panting. "d'Artagnan just left," Aramis informs her and Constance waves him away.

"I need you to accompany me to my uncle's birthday lunch," she tells Athos, "as my boyfriend."

Athos, who has opened his mouth to respond, closes it again. "Why?" he finally manages.

"Wait a minute," Porthos interrupts. "Did you and d'Artagnan break up?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"Then why'd you need Athos to be your boyfriend?"

"Because," Constance tells them, as if she's addressing a particularly slow group of sheep, "my family dislikes d'Artagnan because he's not Jacques Bonacieux. I need to show them how good he is by introducing someone who's much worse than d'Artagnan could ever be."

"Cheers for that," says Athos sarcastically as Aramis dissolves in laughter beside him.

*

"Remember," Constance tells Athos as they stand outside the restaurant chosen for the honour of celebrating uncle Perry's fifty-sixth birthday, "you just got divorced."

"Yes," Athos tells her, his voice dry as dust. "I was there."

"Oh, you know what I mean," Constance mumbles, suddenly ashamed. Athos throws her one of his very rare smiles – it's hardly more than a twitch of his lips – and Constance knows she's forgiven. Taking a deep breath, she allows Athos to put his hand on the small of her back and usher her through the doors of the restaurant.

"Darling!" cries her mother as soon as they spot each other across the crowded room. Feeling Athos' steady presence at her back, Constance puts on something she hopes is closer to a smile than a grimace and returns the hug her mother engulfs her in.

The whole family's there – including aunt Patricia, who Constance had shamefully hoped would be too sick with one of her imaginary diseases to attend her husband's celebratory lunch.

"Well, who's this then?" asks aunt Patricia, gesturing towards Athos, who's been hovering the background. He's made an effort, Constance thinks, dressed in a nice shirt and brushed his hair. So far, the only complaint her mother is going to have is the beard. Her mother, for reasons unknown to Constance, thinks full beards are the work of the devil. "You must be the boyfriend," Constance's father cuts in, rising to shake Athos hand. "How very nice to meet you. Name's Philip and I'm Constance's father."

"Athos," Athos says, shaking Philip's hand. "It's such an honour to finally meet you."

They all settle down as the waiter brings them their menus and Athos takes the first chance he gets to order some wine. Once the bottle arrives he pours himself a liberal amount before offering Constance the bottle. She shakes her head and he shrugs, pouring some more into his glass. Constance glances at him, not knowing if this is part of his act or if it's real. Athos, she knows, has a tendency to lean a little too heavily on his drinking. Not so much that she's ever noticed it causing actual problems, but she doubts she's ever seen her friend completely sober. On the scale of one to laying wasted in a ditch somewhere, Athos is a solid constantly tipsy.

Tipping his head back, Athos swallows the contents of the glass in one go. He immediately, to the obvious horror of Constance's mother, fills it up to the brim again.

"So how did you two meet?" asks aunt Patricia once they've gone through the appetizers and discussed the lives of Constance's brothers in absolute detail.

"Oh," Athos mumbles, his words slurred. That particular part of this is an act, Constance knows. She's seen Athos put away twice as much alcohol and still be able to quote TS Elliott without as much as a hitch in his voice. "She was my shou- shoulder- to lean on. Excuse me," he says, and burps straight into uncle Perry's face.

"Whatever do you mean?" Constance's mother asks, disgust at Athos' behaviour clearly visible on her face.

"When my bitch of a wife left me, of course," Athos explains, as if it's obvious. "Constance was my rock. We hit it off famously."

It's not a lie, but Athos is fibbing quite a bit at the same time. It's true Constance did her best to stand by Athos as his divorce progressed, but then she only met him at the tail end of it. Constance never met Anne de Bruil, the woman Athos now hates and loves with the power of a thousand suns, has only ever seen her in facebook photos. She's a beautiful woman, especially if one fancies people with perpetually haughty looks on their faces. Which Athos apparently does.

"Oh, so you're divorced then?" asks Constance's mother. She sounds hopeful and Constance knows that is because the prospect of her daughter being involved with a divorced man is infinitely better than Constance being involved with a man who's technically still bound to someone else. Less of a scandal, one might say.

"Nearly," Athos replies, having been briefed on the situation at hand by Constance a couple of hours earlier. "Only a few more weeks and I'll be a free man, free to marry your daughter at the closest church."

He reaches out to squeeze Constance's hand and Constance beams back at him, doing her best to appear head over heels in love. "In fact," Athos slurs, stumbling to his feet. His behaviour attracts the stares of several other guests at the restaurant, much to Constance's family's horror. If there is one thing they enjoy, it's not sticking out in any way. Having Constance's drunk of a boyfriend making a fool of himself in a crowded restaurant is very much not categorised as blending in. Oh god, Constance thinks to herself as Athos, nearly faceplanting on the wooden floor, manages to kneel down next to her chair and pulls out a small box. Trying to stifle her horrified laugh, Constance stands up as Athos stares at her in what might be described as wonder.

"Constance," he begins. "I'm sorry, I don't know your middle name. Constance Baudin," he soldiers on, ignoring, or perhaps not hearing the sound of Constance's mother hissing at him to sit down and behave. "Will you do me the honour of marrying me?"

Constance watches, her cheeks flaming, as Athos fumbles the box open to reveal a small, cheap ring. It's the kind that makes your fingers go green and Constance knows her family knows this. Without waiting for an answer, Athos grabs her left hand, beginning to force the ring onto her finger. "Yes," cries Constance suddenly, "Yes, of course!"

Grabbing Athos' face, Constance hauls him upwards until they can mush their faces together. Hopefully it'll look like a celebratory kiss and not just their faces mashed together, lips sealed firmly shut.

"I'm so happy," Constance squeals as she turns to face her family, who're looking aghast. Beside her, Athos grabs the leftover wine, drinking straight from the bottle.

*

"I rather consider this a success," Constance tells her friends a few nights later, when they're all curled up in her apartment eating pizza and "studying."

"I'm glad," Athos replies. For once, the drink in his hand is regular soda – Constance has banned every kind of alcohol from her home on principal. It's just the way she was raised.

"Thank you for helping out," Constance tells him sincerely. "They've got to realize d'Artagnan is the best thing that's happened to me now," she informs the room at large, but mostly her boyfriend, who's cuddled up next to her on the couch.

*

As it turns out, her family is not as open-minded as she had hoped – instead, Constance's mother begins the following Wednesday's phone call with "I ran into Jacques and his mother at the store. Such a nice young man, Constance, and so, so ambitious. I tell you, that boy is going places."

In contrast, Constance's mother does not speak a word of her daughter's surprise engagement, nor does she ask about Athos. It's as if she's decided to pretend that the man simply doesn't exist.

Time to bring out the big guns, Constance thinks and texts Porthos.

*

"What happened to Athos, darling?" are the first words out of her mother's mouth when the door opens to reveal her youngest child accompanied by a large man with a scar across his left eye. Outside it's snowing. Large, wet flakes. It fits Constance's mood.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Constance asks, shaking melting snowflakes from her coat. "He's gone to rehab. And he decided he didn't need to get married so soon after being divorced."

"I thought you said he went back to his ex," booms Porthos on her right, as they agreed on before Constance rang the doorbell. "Found 'em hooking up in your bed, didn't you?"

Turning to glare at her friend, Constance bares her teeth. "I thought we agreed not to speak of that," she hisses, making sure her voice carries over to where her mother is standing. "It's just so humiliating," she continues, stepping forward and burying her face in Porthos' chest. "Forget that fucker," Porthos advices and pets her hair. "Besides, you've got me now. I'll make you forget him in no time, honeybun."

Constance beams at him. "I love you," she says, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Behind her, Constance's mother clears her throat.

"Um," Porthos mumbles, as if he's forgotten the older woman's presence in the room. "I'm sorry, madame. I'm Porthos, Connie's boyfriend."

Everybody knows Constance hates being called Connie and Constance watches in satisfaction as her mother winces as the nickname leaves Porthos' mouth. That's already a minus for Porthos and dinner hasn't even begun.

"So how long have you been a couple?" Constance's mother asks as they make their way to the dining room. It's decked out in its usual fashion – lights, that old and ugly Santa statue that her oldest brother once threw down the stairs, making it lose its nose, a giant tree – one of four in the house – and a large fire blazing in the fireplace.

"About a month," Porthos tells her as he sits down without waiting for the seating arrangements to be announced. On their way over, Constance gave him the complete run-down of what would happen – including the fact that her family are a bit stickly when it comes to seating arrangements. No putting Aunt Patricia next to Christopher's wife if you don't fancy the third world war breaking out over something as trivial as coffee cups and no putting uncle Perry anywhere near the brandy and so on. It's too bad, Constance thinks, that her family view themselves as too polite to actually tell the dangerous looking dude she brought home that he's sitting in Aunt Patricia's seat. Quickly, to discourage anyone from voicing any passive aggressive comments, Constance sits down next to her 'boyfriend'. Porthos, ignoring the dirty looks Constance's mother is already sending him, helps himself to the food without waiting for anyone to tell him he can.

If Athos had at least made sure he looked respectable before he begun drinking straight from the wine bottle at the very expensive restaurant where the Baudin family can never again show their faces out of sheer embarrassment, Porthos has gone in the complete opposite direction. He's not, as Constance had advised him to, wearing a dress shirt. Instead, he's wearing a sleeveless shirt – is that a beer stain? – that shows off the tattoos on his arms and a pair of jeans with more holes than fabric. If Constance wasn't so utterly devoted to d'Artagnan, she'd be very appreciative of all the skin Porthos is showing. Aunt Patricia, on the other hand, shows exactly what she thinks of Porthos dishonouring her dress code. True to what Constance knows about her boyfriend's best friend, Porthos sports a grin that edges on just this side of 'dangerous' when he meets Patricia's stare across the table.

"If you don't mind me asking," says Constance's father sometime in the middle of dinner, "but what does that mean?" he points toward the tattoo of cursive text on Porthos' bicep. If Constance hadn't watched Flea, Porthos' on and off girlfriend, paint the thing that very morning, she'd have believed it to be an actual tattoo. That's how good Flea is at doing art, she thinks.

"Oh this," says Porthos says, absent-mindedly touching the 'Cour des miracles' tattoo. "I grew up in the court of miracles. Got this when I was nineteen. A thing of pride, I guess you could call it."

The court of miracles is the unofficial nickname for the slums of Paris, the absolute bottom of the barrel. Constance has never been anywhere near those particular parts of the city, mostly because it's inhabited by what her father calls "the filthiest scum on earth."

The court of miracles is where the poorest of the poor lives, she knows. It's most often featured in the media when it comes to over-the-top violence and gang related crime.

Good one Porthos, Constance thinks. Now, d'Artagnan is going to be appearing as an absolute saint in comparison.

"Oh," her father says, faltering. "I didn't realise-" he cuts himself off, going back to shoving Brussels sprouts into his mouth as if his life depends on it. "Didn't realise what?" Porthos asks, his voice growing defensive. It's not an act, Constance realises with a jolt. He rarely talks about it, but Porthos really did grow up in the court of miracles, has had to depend on himself since he was five years old. It's a bit of a sore spot these days – Flea is Porthos' only real connection to his old life. Perhaps, Constance thinks, that's why it's so hard for the two of them to quit each other.

"Oh, nothing," says Constance's dad before changing the subject. "This food is simply divine," he says next, turning to address his wife. Constance takes the opportunity to put her hand on Porthos' knee, squeezing in what she hopes is a calming manner. Porthos is here to help her scandalise her family, not to start an actual fight. Porthos turns to her, grinning.

Constance putting her hand on Porthos' knee must look like something else entirely from the other side of the table, because aunt Patricia is frowning at them. Realizing they're being watched, Porthos visibly relaxes back into his seat. He closes his eyes and lets out a tiny, almost silent moan. Constance quickly removes her hand, her face on fire. Seeing the look on her face, Porthos barks out a laugh. "Later, babe," he mutters and from the look on aunt Patricia's face, it's clear she's heard him.

Porthos makes sure to call her a plethora of pet names in lieu of her actual name. Babe, sugar and baby girl being among the less ridiculous ones. She spills her wine laughing when he, in all apparent seriousness, turns to her and says "Isn't that right, pumpkin bunny?"

They're discussing the pros and cons of marinating chicken overnight – it's clear they've run out of actual subjects to discuss after Porthos regaled them all with the sob story that is his childhood as an orphan – as far as Constance can tell, he told her family the complete truth. Constance is somewhat surprised at this – she'd been expecting some kind of fairytale littered with things like theft and leaving school at the age of twelve, simply to shock her parents even more than the tattoos, the pet names and the blatant display of a sexual relationship between Porthos and their youngest child – and only daughter – has already done. Humming in agreement to whatever it is Porthos believes is right, Constance focuses on the last of her baked ham.

When Constance's mother announces a lull in their eating to prepare the dessert, Porthos pulls Constance from the table under the pretext of being shown around the house. "I'd love to see your room," he says, just loud enough for everyone left in the dining room to hear. "Especially your bed," he adds, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Constance is just done showing Porthos – who moves his hand from where it was resting dangerously low on her back the minute they're out of sight, muttering a sorry as he does – the upper floor, when they hear someone coming up the stairs. "You can slap me later," Porthos mutters and before Constance can even think to process what he just said, she finds herself on her back in her childhood bed, staring up at those glowing stars she put on the ceiling when she was eight. Porthos lays down on top of her and Constance instinctively puts her arms around his neck. Face flaming in embarrassment, Constance can feel Porthos grabbing her hips, fitting their bodies together. "Babe," she hears him groan loudly just as the upper landing of the stairs creaks. An embarrassed giggle escape Constance as a timid knock is heard on her bedroom door. The thing is, the door is not even halfway closed, and from previous experience, Constance knows that whoever is standing just outside it probably has a clear view of her bed – and what's currently going on in it. "Dessert is being served down–" Constance hears aunt Patricia begin, just as Porthos groans again, his breath puffing against her neck. She can hear the suppressed laughter in his voice when he opens his mouth again, this time to address her aunt. "Bloody great timing, Pat," he says, snickering.

His words are met by the sound of aunt Patricia fleeing down the stairs.

*

Once they make it back into the dining room, it's obvious aunt Patricia has told the others that _something_ has transpired. No one will look Constance in the eyes, least of all her mother. They all treat Porthos with almost rude politeness, a frostiness in the air so palpable Constance feels like she can touch it.

A+ work, Porthos. She silently vows to buy him as many pints of mocha flavoured ice cream he could possibly want as thanks.

Constance makes their excuses soon after dessert is finished, making sure she appears appropriately embarrassed that Patricia caught them. Porthos, true to the character he's painted for himself during the progress of the evening, grins wolfishly at her family as they say their goodbyes. As they leave, he makes sure to put his hand – in full view of Constance's entire family – on her behind and squeeze.

Hopefully, her family were horrified enough by that public display of affection not to notice Constance's embarrassed squeak.

*

Aunt Patricia's birthday rolls around and lo and behold – Constance's family still hasn't realised that d'Artagnan is the best thing to have ever happened to their daughter. "I'm thinking of inviting Jacques," her mother tells her one Wednesday evening. "Patricia is so fond of him, as you well know."

"Yes," Constance agrees through clenched teeth. "I'm actually bringing someone," she says, "if it's all right."

"Oh, it's not that Porthos, is it? Not to judge you, honey, but-"

"No, it's not," Constance confirms, silently cursing her friend for choosing this weekend to go on a "lads trip" with Aramis. "I've met someone new."

*

This, Constance decides, would be less awkward if she'd actually met d'Artagnan and Athos' friend before. Treville, a professor of history at The Garrison College, seems to be game enough, but still. Constance had, in a bout of panic after telling her mother that yes, she had met someone new, called d'Artagnan, wondering if she could have an imaginary but believable breakup in the span of two days. d'Artagnan, because he's the closest thing she has ever had to an actual fairytale prince, had come to her rescue. "Don't worry. I know someone who might be able to help."

Two hours later, he and Athos had shown up at her door, dragging a sleep deprived history professor behind them. Treville, from the look of him, won't have any obvious points against himself at first, not until his age is discovered. He's a couple of years older than Constance, after all. That's their main angle for making her family dislike him, because otherwise he seems pretty respectable. Steady job, not actually god awful facial hair, polite and easy on the eyes. Everything Constance's mother looks for in a son-in-law. Except for that glaringly obvious flaw of the man in question not being Jacques Bonacieux, of course.

Treville introduces himself to her family by shaking each and every hand. He takes her coat. He pulls out her chair for her. All in all, he seems great. This is a restaurant Constance's family won't have any problems returning to.

"Oh, I'm a professor," Treville answers Patricia's question of his occupation once their main courses have arrived. "I teach history."

"You're a teacher?" asks Perry, something doubtful creeping into his voice.

"Yes. That's how Constance and I met."

Constance chokes on her salad at that, because they haven't actually discussed what their 'relationship' should consist of. They'd spent half an hour chitchatting about nothing while Treville drove them to the restaurant, avoiding the subject of what would happen once they reached their destination. Constance had figured Treville had gotten cold feet, and she wasn't about to push him about it unintentionally.

"You're Constance's teacher?" Constance's mother always has a bit of a shrill voice, but when she's upset, it sounds even more shrill.

Treville looks suitably guilty. "Not exactly, no. I'm a teacher of a friend of hers. He brought her along to one of my classes and we just... clicked."

He leaves the words hanging in the air as he excuses himself to the bathroom. Constance tries to avoid looking anyone in the eye. "It's a new thing," she says. "Porthos got bored of me and I just – need stability, I guess. But this one is the real deal, I can feel it in my bones."

"Honey," aunt Patricia reaches out to hold her hand across the table. "You know we won't judge you, but don't you think you're moving a bit too quickly? Didn't you just break things off with – what-his-name?"

"Who?" Constance asks, because she's brought three different guys to dinner in the last six months alone.

"That boy from gascony. He was quite sweet from what I remember."

Just as Constance is about to answer – something scathing about Patricia not seeming to think d'Artagnan was sweet when she met him – Treville conveniently appears at the table. He's putting his phone away, and at a wondering look from Constance's father, smiles guiltily. "I'm afraid I've got to run, but it's been an absolute pleasure."

"Where are you going?" Constance whispers, fake-fury evident in her voice. Treville makes a show of being regretful and whispers in that same, loud type of whispering: "Ninon called. I forgot it's my weekend with the kids. I'll see you later, sweetheart." Treville bends down to kiss Constance's cheek with an audible smack, before once again shaking everyone’s hands and then he's out the door with his phone already plastered to his ear.

A+ for effort, Constance thinks as she watches her mother out of the corner of her eye. At the mention of potential step-kids in Constance's future, she frowns. Her mother is not a fan of romances containing age gaps. She despises virtually every Hollywood film ever made and she hates Armand Richelieu, despite the fact that she was gushing over his proposal to Adele Bessette not even six months ago. Something that would make her mother disapprove of Constance's relationship with man of Treville's age, is the existence of previous children from a previous marriage and talk of Constance becoming a step-mother at the age of twenty-five. As far as Constance knows, Treville doesn't actually have any children, but her mother does not need to know that.

"His children are lovely," Constance says instead, playing with the leftover food on her plate. "Jean is such a sweetheart and Olivia is such a great girl. I'm taking her shopping next week."

"How fun," her mother responds weakly. "How old did you say they were?"

"Oh, Olivia is fifteen and Jean is twelve."

This means Constance's made up step-daughter is not even ten years younger than Constance herself. It's perfect, Constance thinks, trying not to blow the whole façade at the sight of her mother's face at this little bit of information. She actually looks properly disgusted.

*

"Trust me," Aramis says some three months later, sprawling in the car seat next to Constance, "I'm gonna be the worst boyfriend you've ever had."

Constance's family had been very happy – though they'd tried to hide it – about her 'break up' with Treville. "He was too old for you anyway," Constance's mother had commented, unable to keep the relief out of her voice.

Feeling as if she really had to drive the point home one last time before reintroducing d'Artagnan to her family, Constance cornered Aramis one day after lunch, asking him to accompany her to the dinner her family was throwing to celebrate the fact that her oldest brother was expecting his first child with his – in the eyes of Constance's mother's eyes – perfect wife.

From the back of the car, Anne giggles. Why Aramis had brought his girlfriend along is still a mystery to Constance, but as Anne is one of her best friends, she doesn't actually mind. She's more worried what, exactly Anne is going to be doing while Aramis pretends to be the worst boyfriend in the history of male suitors. Wait in the car? Go shopping for baby clothes?

Anne and Aramis as a couple – an expecting one, to boot – had come as a bit of a surprise to Constance. Regretfully, she'd been too wrapped up in her own schemes to even notice that they had actually stopped doing their 'we're dancing around each other because we can't admit we're head over heels in love and you've got a boyfriend anyway' thing that had been going on for several years. Apparently, Anne had actually – finally – broken up with her boyfriend of many, many years – Louis, who in Constance's humble opinion still behaved like the sixteen year old little boy he'd been when Anne had first met him – and confessed her feelings for Aramis. One thing lead to another and now, not even half a year into the relationship, they were expecting a baby. Constance had – and she would take the thought to the grave with her – expected Anne to freak out and Aramis to leave her in the dust upon discovering the baby, but that hadn't happened. Instead, Aramis had done the honourable thing and stayed and Constance couldn't be more proud of her best friend's boyfriend for the maturity he was showing. If it had been Louis, Constance suspected, he would have been running out the door before Anne would even have finished telling him she was pregnant. Sometimes, Constance thinks, it's a wonder that Anne never picked up on her intense feelings of dislike for Louis. It's not like Constance did that great a job of hiding them.

"So, how do I look?" Aramis asks her as they enter the restaurant. He has, like Athos but unlike Porthos, actually dressed up. He's gone the whole way, even wearing a tie.

"You'll do," Constance says, because she's more than familiar with Aramis' ways, and he grins at her, throwing a casual arm around her waist. "Lead the way," he says and Constance begins weaving her way through the restaurant to where she can see her family sitting in the very back. Much like Treville, Aramis makes a show of being polite and shaking everyone’s hands. He compliments every lady, telling aunt Patrica she's got a wonderful smile. That earns him a not so discreet glare from uncle Perry. Other than that little bump on the road, the dinner is fine. Aramis is polite and charming and sweeps Constance's mother off of her feet.

In Constance's opinion, things are going a little too well. They're halfway through dinner already and so far, Aramis has done nothing to deliver on the promise of being the worst boyfriend ever.

Then, Aramis' phone begins to chime. Again and again it chimes, announcing that he's got another new message waiting for him. Then it rings. "Someone's obviously trying to reach you, son," Constance's father says when Aramis ignores his phone for the thirtieth time.

"I'm sure it's nothing important," Aramis says as he switches his phone off, stuffing it into his pocket.

*

They have reached dessert when it happens. Constance is sitting with her back to the door, so she doesn't actually see Anne arrive, but she hears her clearly.

"YOU LYING FILTHY SCUMBAG!"

Constance jumps in her seat at the unexpected sound of her friend yelling at the top of her lungs. Turning around, she sees Anne –red-faced and with a very visible bump, covered by a shirt that's two sizes too small – come storming towards them. Beside her, Aramis is making a show of scrambling out of his seat to greet the angry woman. "Darling," he says, "how did you know I was here?"

"YOU FILTHY CHEATING JERK!" Anne continues as if she hasn't heard Aramis speak. She's getting in his face and Constance, for a moment, before she realises that this is for her benefit, begins to get angry at her best friend's boyfriend, because how dare he treat Anne like this?

"Honey," counters Aramis weakly, turning around to face Constance's family. "I have no idea what she's on about," he tells Constance. "I've never met this woman before in my life."

"LIAR!" screams Anne. Pointing at her belly, she continues in a voice dangerously low. "Never met me before in your life, huh? You're the father! We've been together for years!"

"Aramis?" asks Constance, trying her best to appear shocked. "She's nuts," Aramis tells her family, pointing to Anne. By this point, every other guest and waiter in the entire restaurant has turned to stare at them.

"How did you even know I was here?" Aramis asks Anne, who bristles.

"I had to ask d'Artagnan!" she cries. "Or don't you remember you told me you were going fishing with him, like you always do on weekends? Anyway, d'Artagnan told me something very interesting. He said he'd never been fishing with you. He didn't even know I was your girlfriend! He said you were on a date with your girlfriend. Your girlfriend!"

"Baby," says Aramis, holding up his hands and looking pleading. "Please! I can explain!" It's not clear which one of his two 'girlfriends' he's speaking too.

"Yes, please do," Constance says and Anne whirls on her. "I take it you didn't know either," she states more than asks. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Anne."

"Constance," says Constance and moves to shake Anne's hand. "What happens now?"

"Now," says Anne, "Aramis can pack his bags and get the hell out for all I care. You can have him if you want."

Constance makes a thoughtful face at that and her mother clears her throat, speaking carefully. "Maybe it's best, Constance, to let Aramis and his girlfriend clear things up before deciding if you want to pursue this relationship."

"Anne!" Aramis cries, rushing after his girlfriend who's storming off towards the door with a satisfied look on her face. "Darling! Love of my life!"

The heavy silence that descends upon their table after Aramis' vanished through the door is very telling, Constance thinks.

"What a nightmare," uncle Perry offers and takes another sip of his brandy. "Congratulations to the happy couple," he says, raising his glass to toast Constance's older brother and his wife.

*

"Everyone," Constance says, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice. "This is d'Artagnan. You may remember him from last year's Christmas dinner. We've decided to give our relationship another go."

d'Artagnan, who's dressed to the nines for the occasion, offers his own, slightly nervous smile. "Pleasure to meet you. Again."

"d'Artagnan!" cries aunt Patricia, rushing forward to give him a hug, as if she didn't spend the majority of their last meeting snidely questioning him on his choice of major in college.

"So," Constance's dad murmurs once they're all seated around the table. "I've drawn up some questions I'd like to ask you, d'Artagnan." From his pocket, he produces a sheet of paper.

"Ask away," says d'Artagnan, visibly trying to stop fidgeting.

"I should be clear," says Constance's father, "that if you pass this test, you'll be the best boyfriend Constance's had in months and I'll be more than inclined to accept you."

"Accept him for what?" asks Constance, gearing up to defend her boyfriend. "He doesn't need your permission to date me."

"But," her father counters, "he's already told me he'd like it for marrying you."

"Sometime," mumbles d'Artagnan, clearly caught off guard. "In the future. Once we're done with college."

Constance squeezes his hand. "I'd love to," she whispers. "You know, in the future."

At the head of the table, Constance's father clears his throat. "Any addictions we should know about?" he asks. "Alcohol? Drugs?"

d'Artagnan shakes his head. "No."

"Any previous marriages? Any divorces? Any current divorces?"

"No."

"Do you have a criminal record?"

"No."

"Any other girlfriends?"

d'Artagnan flusters. "No. Of course not."

"Any kids from previous relationships?"

"Nope."

"Are you intending on having sex with my daughter tonight under this roof?"

Both Constance and d'Artagnan blush at that. "No?"

"All right," Constance's father says as he folds his paper in half. "I think that was everything. Welcome to the family, d'Artagnan."

*

Epilogue.

"Please tell me I'm dreaming," Constance can hear aunt Patricia ask her mother from where she's standing next to d'Artagnan in front of the altar. "Please tell me that Constance didn't actually invite all four of her exes to the wedding?"

"No," whispers d'Artagnan for only Constance to hear. "I did."

 


End file.
